


Eyes on the Porn

by YoursTruly (Lyscey)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Watching, Pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyscey/pseuds/YoursTruly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here we go again! Poppy asked for:  Johnstrade, during the time after the Fall that nobody’s still grieving hard (ie, no or minimal angst), John and Greg having a Lads’ Night In, drinking beers and watching porn and wanking side-by-side on the sofa. Whatever else may happen is up to you! If you please.</p>
<p>Unf. This got a bit, ahem, out of hand. It ended up pretty long, but, as requested, there is only the mention of angst surrounded by bloke-y comradery, gay porn, and mutual masturbation. I hope you love it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes on the Porn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoppyAlexander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/gifts).



> As requested (and titled) by Poppy, I'm bring another of her prompts to AO3 to share with all of you. This is unbeta'd or Brit picked, so be mindful of that. Thanks for reading!

The buzzer goes as Greg is putting a frozen pizza in the oven. He shouts over his shoulder for John to go ahead and come in, that it’s unlocked. He really ought to just get the man his own key at this point. They do this every week, not always on the same day of the week, but at least once every seven days. Meeting at one flat or the other to watch movies or sports and drink beer. To have some companionship.

John walks briskly down the short hall and stops in front of the kitchen doorway. “Hey. I see you’re just getting started in here,” John teases.

Greg makes sure John can see him roll his eyes. “Nothing fancy, hope that’s alright with you.”

“Should go great with the cheap beer and good scotch I brought,” John says, brandishing both.

“Glad to see your priorities are in order. You can go sit down if you want. There’s some crisps in there already. I can bring this out on a plate when it’s done. Box says ten minutes.”

John chuckles. “Yeah, may as well get started.” He crosses to the cabinet on the end, near the refrigerator, where he knows the glassware is. He tucks the bottle of Lagavulin under one arm so he can open the little door and get two tumblers down. The glasses clink together as he shuts it again and heads out of Greg’s small kitchen, smiling.

This started as a knee-jerk reaction to Sherlock’s abrupt and bloody end. With all the backlash surrounding both Sherlock’s life and death, it had been touch and go whether either one of them would survive it. It was pretty clear that Greg’s career would be completely upheaved, and of course he mourned his friend, but John was devastated in a way that made Greg sincerely worry he was going to eat that gun he and Sherlock always assumed Greg didn’t know about. So he imposed himself on John’s life at every opportunity, of which there were many, being that he had 90 days of leave. Non-negotiable. He was constantly at Baker Street hiding out, cleaning things, forcing the both of them to eat and sleep like normal people whose lives weren’t a shambles. The television was probably switched on for two solid weeks, just so there never had to be any silence between them.

That was a year ago, though. Things are much less dire these days and they meet like this out of habit and enjoyment more than staving off mutual destruction. It’s grown into a real friendship. Something comfortable and easy, without expectations, that he can relax into whenever he wants and just switch off. He wonders sometimes if John thinks of it that way, too. Of course, he would never ask; that’s just not the way men like the two of them talk to each other. He knows it’s not entirely healthy to actively avoid thinking about how he feels about John and just letting the other man be a reassuring presence in his life. It’s a bit codependent, even when compared to John’s relationship with Sherlock, but that’s about as far as he’s willing to let his self awareness go. He should be able to be more open, more emotional, with John now that they’re both more in control of their emotions. He won’t, though. John won’t either. At the least, it’s a better arrangement than sitting in that dark living room, in front of that unnecessarily large telly he’d rationalized to himself, alone and watching porn like some sad-

Oh shit. Greg has been watching porn in that living room. Last night. And he definitely forgot to take the DVD out.

“John, the movie-” he begins, but by the time he makes it to the kitchen doorway he knows it’s too late. Greg stops in his tracks, listens hard for what John is doing, but there’s no noises other than the soft, low, moaning he knows is coming from the television. He walks carefully down the hall toward the living room, hoping maybe John didn’t hear him yell and he can do some damage control.

The living room is a bit dim, lit only by a single floor lamp and the telly. John is sitting on the couch, relaxed. Slouched down with his legs splayed a bit and his head tilted to the right, watching intently as the two young men on the screen kiss and caress each other’s naked bodies.

Greg remembers buying the DVD very clearly; stopping at the little shop on his way home from work two nights ago, nodding to the smiling girl behind the counter, bypassing the gay men’s section and heading for the little spot on the far wall with all the merchandise marketed toward women. He’s not really sure why women seem to be watching gay porn these days, but it’s always there: young, lightly muscled men, usually with sharp features and light eyes, kissing or cuddling on the pastel coloured covers. The stuff in this section has always been more appealing to him than mainstream gay porn. Nothing violent, nothing grossly disproportionate. No power play, or age play, or object insertion ( _ugh_ ). Just two people enjoying each other’s bodies. That’s what he wants. He had looked over the wall for a minute, indecisive, until the shop girl came over and recommended a title to him, all grins and casual touches. She wasn’t subtle about checking him out, but he smiled politely and left without her number. The last thing he needs in his life is a 25 year-old.

He startles a little at a noise he doesn’t recognize, but quickly realizes it came from John. One of the men on the screen is kneeling at the other’s feet, puffing breaths over his erection through his pants, then gently pulling the elastic out and down so he can tongue at the head. John has his legs spread wide now, palming himself over his jeans, breathing hard through his nose, and lightly biting his lower lip. Greg’s head is swimming and his knees feel a little weak, but he’s frozen to the spot; torn between watching the tastefully framed pornography on the television and John’s lax form groping himself on Greg’s sofa.

“You just going to stand there?” John says, eyes on the screen.

“Don’t know yet. Have to be sure I’m not having an aneurism first.”

John snorts. “Here,” he scoots down a bit, toward the far end of the couch, then pats the empty space with his hand. “Come sit next to me.”

Greg does. They look into each other’s eyes for a moment (John’s glittering with mischief and Greg’s a bit stunned), before John turns his attention to his own lap, undoing his belt and flies with the hand not resting on his prominent erection. He uses both hands to shimmy his jeans down off his hips until it’s totally exposed, flushed dark with blood and laying stiff against his stomach. It’s thick and uncut, the tip glistening in the white light from the telly as the foreskin retracts from it. Greg stares, he can’t help it.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” John says.

Greg’s eyes snap up to his face. He’s smiling and looking back as he starts to pull on his cock with a loose fist. “You probably don’t know because you’ve never lived in a barracks, but this is a little weird if you’re not doing it, too.”

“Oh,” Greg chuckles, “I didn’t realize there were rules.”

“Only a few, and they’re not too strict. For starters: eyes on the porn.” John settles back into the cushions, rolls his shoulders a few times until his arms lay comfortably at his sides. Greg follows his lead, undoing his trousers at the same time. “Only get undressed enough to get your dick out. This is jerking off, not sex.”

Greg nods, frees his now straining cock from his pants, and looks up at the screen for the first time in a while. The couple there have given up on the blow job and moved on to rimming. One of them, lanky and olive skinned, is laying on his front on a pristine white comforter, head pillowed on his arms and hips writhing as his blond partner alternates teasing him with his tongue and a lubricated thumb. This was one of Greg’s favorite parts when he watched it last night. Oral sex of all kinds is definitely what he misses most about having a regular sexual partner. He doesn’t do it with one night stands; too risky, too intimate. He likes to fantasize about it though, remembering the feel, the taste, the glorious sounds of a partner who really loves it, too. He wonders if John loves it. Does John fantasize about being laid out and having his arsehole eaten? He opens his mouth to ask (because that’s easy for him; talking about sex is nothing like talking about feelings) but John heads him off.

“Shh. No talking. You can make sound if you want, but no speaking to each other.”

Right. He should have guessed that. 

Greg takes it slow, trailing his fingers up the underside of his prick over and over, just to get the sensitivity up. By the time the blond in the video has two fingers thrusting shallowly into the man underneath him Greg and John are both squirming on the cushions and panting.

Greg leans forward and pulls open the drawer under the coffee table to retrieve a little tube of lube. Knowing not to speak, he waves it at John and raises his eyebrows in question. John huffs a little laugh and holds out his left hand. Greg puts a good sized dollop in his palm, then applies some to his own right hand. Their elbows bump as they reach back down to touch themselves.

This is so bizarrely sexy Greg can barely handle it. It’s strange, and fun, and somehow not awkward at all. ‘Not awkward’ shouldn’t even be a feeling, let alone one that turns him on, but here they are: both watching porn and wanking on Greg’s couch, and it just feels… nice.

He’s snapped away from that thought as the sounds filling the room from the television gain an edge of desperation. The two lovers are still on the bed, the tanned one up on his knees and gripping the headboard. His lean partner is behind him, rubbing firm circles into his lower back with open hands as he presses his hard cock into the other man’s body. Greg spreads his legs farther apart so he has more space to fondle himself, press two fingers up against his perineum. His knee touches John’s and John jumps a bit, but settles, and then spreads himself more too, pressing their legs together up to mid-thigh. Their forearms are touching now, rubbing against each other as they both stoke themselves at an ever increasing pace.

The two men are fucking steadily, back-lit by huge, open windows. The scene is artfully shot from the side so their whole bodies can be seen. The blond’s cock is clearly visible one second, then vanishes inside his lover the next. They both moan, long and low, on every breath, broken occasionally by choked words: “ _yes_ ”, “ _fuck_ ”, “ _God_ ”. John is moaning too, very quietly, but Greg can feel it where he’s slumped over a bit more and their shoulders are pressed together. He closes his eyes and just listens: the pleasured moans in all three voices, the slick sounds of lubricant gliding over skin, the faint hissing of John sucking on his lower lip.

They’re so close together now John’s pace is starting to affect Greg’s. They’re getting faster, keeping up with the couple on the screen, working toward what he can already tell will be a spectacular finish. It won’t be much longer, so if he wants to get one last look at John he’s got to do it now. He knows it’s breaking the rules of whatever this is, but when he turns his head and sees John’s face, eyes screwed shut, mouth fallen open in pleasure as he comes, he couldn’t care less about the rules.

Cum lands on the front of John’s buttondown in two thick spurts, and a little more dribbles down over his fingers as he strokes himself firmly through the orgasm. When it’s over and he finally lets out his breath, his head lolls back, then over onto Greg’s shoulder. He says, low and quiet, “ _fuck me._ ”

It’s more of an expletive than an invitation, but Greg’s lust addled brain doesn’t care. He tips his head forward, noses into John’s hair, and with the smell of sex, sweat, and John’s subtle aftershave in his nose he comes so suddenly he thinks, again, that he might be having an aneurism.

They sit there for a long moment, touching all along one side, breathing and fighting the urge to wipe the semen off on something. Greg’s eyes flick up to the screen, but it’s black, the film over. When did that happen? John stirs a bit next to him, and Greg can just barely hear his breathy laughter.

“What?”

“You have interesting taste in porn.”

“Suppose I’m a bit of a romantic. Don’t know about that over-produced, obviously faked stuff.”

“ _Do you know about the internet?_ ” John laughs, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “Who still has porn on DVD?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know-”

“Wait, Greg, do you smell something burning?”

**Author's Note:**

> #Greg Lestrade reads yaoi #pass it on

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [what comes to us when we are not looking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897451) by [QuickLikeLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight)




End file.
